Perchance to Scheme
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: When Crittendon's unexpected arrival seemingly ruins the Heroes' latest spy scheme, Hogan turns to a well-known play to ensure the mission's success.  Mid-series, written for challenge 74, "The 'To be or not to be' challenge."
1. Alas, Alas!

_Author's note: The characters aren't mine, and the story is! The Shakespearean quotes aren't mine, either—they're public domain. This story was inspired by challenge #74, where the Heroes must put on a production of Hamlet with ulterior motives._

* * *

Deep in the tunnels beneath Stalag 13, Corporal Peter Newkirk was embarking on a private mission. Having successfully purloined a bottle of schnapps from Klink's liquor cabinet, the Englishman was carefully decanting the liquid into an ordinary-looking water canteen. He cast a furtive glance around him, making sure that no one else was around.

Unfortunately for him, he was soon discovered by his commanding officer; Colonel Robert Hogan had been scouting Klink's quarters a few minutes prior, and had entered the tunnel system via the secret entrance beneath the stove. Silently, the colonel came up behind the corporal, watching as Newkirk finished pouring the schnapps and placing the cap back on the canteen.

"Ruddy marvelous…" the Englishman murmured.

"Yeah, but you'll have to make sure that Schultz doesn't drink from it by accident," Hogan said, causing Newkirk to jump three feet into the air.

"Cor blimey, Sir! You gave me a right start!"

"And I have sneaking suspicion that you had every intention of finishing the schnapps," Hogan said, indicating the canteen.

"Oh, this? Well, Sir, I figured that with that big German officers' meeting being 'eld 'ere, and all the spying we're going to be doing, I thought it would be in the best interest of the team to 'ave some of this… elixir on 'and. You see, Sir, there is nothing quite like a little swig when one's nerves are acting up…"

"So you're going to be sharing that?" Hogan asked.

"Oh, absolutely, Sir! It was me intent from the start!"

"Well, I'm glad to hear that; in fact, I think I'll have a little swig right now…"

"Ah, it ain't quite ready, Sir," Newkirk said, pulling the canteen away before Hogan could grab it.

"What's left?" the colonel asked, incredulously.

"I'm still trying to figure that out, Sir," Newkirk said, cheekily. "Perhaps it needs a taste test; I'd be glad to lend me services to making sure that it is all—"

He was spared from continuing with his excuse as, one by one, his other comrades gathered in the tunnel chamber. Newkirk discreetly pushed the empty schnapps bottle out of sight with his foot as they convened.

"Good; we're all here," Hogan said, taking a look at his team. Since the meeting involved some important names, London had wanted as much information as possible; the American colonel had assembled more than just his usual core team—even the reserves were gathered in the chamber.

"Bugs are ready in the office," Kinch informed him. "Baker and I made sure they were well-hidden."

"And I am preparing a seven-course dinner to stuff those officers' fat faces," LeBeau said, ruefully. "Some of my best work is to be guzzled by those pompous windbags tonight! _Mon colonel_, it kills me!"

"Hang in there, LeBeau; this war won't last forever," Hogan said. The colonel was about to continue when he noticed a large book in Carter's hands. "Carter, what is that?"

"What, this?" the sergeant asked. "It's _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_. It's actually Olsen's; he's letting me borrow it."

"You're a Shakespeare buff?" Kinch asked Olsen.

"Well, I did go to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival once," Olsen replied. "That's where I got the book; Carter told me he'd never read _Henry IV, Part I_, so—"

"I think we'd better postpone this discussion to another time," said Hogan. "Listen up. You all are aware of the fact that there will be a series of important meetings in Klink's office, starting tonight; General Burkhalter is going to be using it as a command center for the next few days. I need everyone's eyes and ears open from here on out; someone needs to be manning the coffeepot at every moment—no more than one person, in the event that we need to cover for the listeners during roll call. Is that understood?"

The men nodded.

"What about documents, Sir?" Private Garlotti asked. "The coffeepot isn't going to help us out there."

"That's a bit riskier," Hogan admitted. "But while LeBeau distracts the brass with his seven-course dinner tonight, it's my hope that we can get Newkirk inside Klink office, have him crack the safe, and get some pictures taken of those documents. We'll relay all the information to London as soon as we get it."

"And now you know why I went through the trouble of setting up this canteen," Newkirk said. "There's likely to be 'eavy guard over that safe if there are secret documents in there—I'll need a few swigs to keep me mettle up—and the mettle of anyone else who needs it."

"Ah, _oui_?" LeBeau asked. "I must have my mettle up to cook for those bottomless stomachs tonight. Give me a 'swig,' _s'il vous plaît_!"

He made a grab for the canteen, resulting in a tug-of-war between the two corporals. This commotion would've continued, had it not been for one of the lookouts from Barracks Two calling down to tell Hogan that a German officer had already arrived.

"So soon?" the colonel wondered, checking his watch. "It's barely time for lunch!"

"I am _not_ making lunch for any early arrivals!" the Frenchman insisted. "They can fend for themselves in the mess hall—I was only instructed to make dinner!"

"Easy, LeBeau," Hogan said, turning back to their lookout. "Who is it?"

"By the sound of it, Sir, it's Colonel Vogel, the commandant of Stalag 5."

"Vogel?" Kinch asked, looking over the list of names he had received from London. "He wasn't mentioned here. And, come to think of it, why would he be? He's just another desk officer, like Klink. The German brass wouldn't invite him to this meeting."

Hogan frowned; something didn't seem right.

"I don't know what's up, but let's go find out," he said. "And let's hope that Burkhalter didn't decide to change the meeting place to Stalag 5."

He headed up and out of the tunnels, crossing to his office as his men followed behind him.

"Well, Kinch, you and Baker did a marvelous job with the bugs; the sound is as clear as crystal," he commented.

The two techies humbly accepted their commanding officer's praise as Klink began to complain.

"I am sorry, Colonel Vogel, but I simply cannot accommodate this British officer you happened to find out in the woods. You are the commandant of Stalag 5; why can't you take him back with you?"

"Because, Klink, I am on furlough!" Vogel countered. "I am trying to go to Austria; to return to Stalag 5 would mean to go in the other direction!"

"And why should that result in an inconvenience for me?" Klink countered. "I am sorry, Vogel, but I simply cannot accept another prisoner. General Burkhalter is due to arrive here within hours with several other officers to conduct a highly important meeting!"

"You can have this prisoner and stay out of Burkhalter's way," Vogel said, smugly. "You know as well as I do that you will not be joining this meeting yourself."

Though they could not see it, Hogan and the Heroes could easily picture the grimace on Klink's face.

"For the last time, Vogel, I cannot and will not deal with another prisoner!"

"Very well then, Klink. May I use your phone?"

"What for?"

"To call Major Hochstetter and have him take custody of the prisoner. And I will be sure to inform him as to how preoccupied you were—"

"Ah… did I say that I cannot deal with another prisoner?" Klink asked, his voice quivering with nervous laughter. "I meant that I cannot deal with this prisoner being such a headache for you or Major Hochstetter. Of course I can take him!"

Vogel called to his aide to allow the prisoner inside.

"Aha!" a familiar voice spoke over the bug. "So we meet again, Colonel Klink! It seems as though I shall be matching wits against you once more, what?"

"No…" Hogan moaned, burying his face in his hands in despair. "Not him. Not _now_…"

All the plans they had for spying on the German generals—the bugs, the dinner distraction, and the safecracking—were now nothing more than pipe dreams with the arrival of the bungling group captain.

"Crittendon…?" Klink asked, stunned. Then, his voice cheered up immensely. "Crittendon, so it's you! Oh, Colonel Hogan will be certainly surprised to hear that you shall be our senior POW officer once again!"

"Ah, yes, I suppose I'll be taking over for the old boy again," Crittendon mused. "It's for the best; I'm sure he will agree! We might even get an escape or two in while I'm here!"

"Not possible, my dear Crittendon," Klink assured him. "Colonel Vogel, I give you my most sincere thanks and hope that you have a nice, long, and enjoyable furlough."

Vogel grunted.

"I will be back to pick him up and take him to Stalag 5 when I return in two weeks," he assured him.

"Oh, please, take all the time you wish!" Klink said. "I'd even be willing to take him off of your hands…"

"Turn it off; I can't bear to listen anymore," Hogan said, and Kinch complied. "Newkirk? I think I _will_ have that swig from your canteen right about now."

The corporal handed the canteen to him without delay.

"You can keep the lot, Sir; I reckon you need it more than I do."

"So is that it, then?" Garlotti asked, sighing. "Do we scrap the mission?"

"If you think we will be able to get anything accomplished with that _imbécile_ around, you are dreaming," LeBeau said, with a shake of his head. "For one thing, we will not be able to listen here in the office!"

"The ruddy fool is going to 'ave me digging tunnels again," Newkirk ranted. "And 'e won't even consider letting me crack Klink's safe open."

"Boy, I'd hate to be the one to tell London that we have to scrap the mission because of one of their own," Carter said. He glanced at the Shakespeare book in his hands, and then back at Hogan. "_Now cracks a noble heart_," he quoted from _Hamlet_.

Hogan, recognizing the quote, looked up and glanced at Carter and the book.

"Hold on…" he said, as the light bulb went off. "Don't tell London we're calling it off yet. Carter, I think you just helped me come up with the perfect backup plan."

"Oh, great!" the sergeant said, though a puzzled look still crossed his face. "What is it?"

"The Mighty Hogan Art Players are going to make a triumphant return, courtesy of the Bard of Avon himself."


	2. Everybody's Gone Shakespeare

_Author's note: Major spoilers for __Hamlet__ from here on out. The episodes referenced in this chapter are "Duel of Honor" and "Klink's Rocket," and Crittendon's butchered Shakespearean recitation was inspired by the one he did in "Hogan's Trucking Service… We Deliver the Factory to You."_

* * *

The men of Barracks Two stared at their commanding officer with a mix of admiration and confusion.

"You mean we're going to put on a Shakespearean play?" Carter asked.

"Exactly," Hogan said, taking the book from Carter and paging through it. "The question is, though, which one? It was to be one we're all familiar with."

"How does putting on the play help us?" Thomas asked.

"It'll keep Crittendon busy, for one," Hogan said. "He's a Shakespeare buff—a terrible one, but a Shakespeare buff nonetheless. Let's see… _Hamlet_ is the one I read in high school. Are the rest of you familiar with it?"

"I am," Kinch assured him.

"Yeah, me too!" Carter said.

"_Oui_, I know it—in English and in a French translation, _Colonel_."

"I read that one, too, Guv; me mates and I actually were part of a class production of it," Newkirk said. "I played the Prince of Denmark 'imself!"

"You played Hamlet?" Olsen asked, surprised.

"Sure—you ain't dealing with rubbish 'ere, you know!" the East Ender replied, pretending to sound affronted. He cleared his throat, putting on a more regal accent, and sunk to his knees to recite the prince's final lines. "_So tell him, with th'occurents more and less which have solicited—the rest is silence_."

He shut his eyes, slumping against the table.

"_Now cracks a noble heart_," LeBeau quoted, playing a very convincing—albeit French—Horatio. He sunk to his knees, as well, catching the "dying" Newkirk in his arms. "_Good night, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!_"

"All right, all right," Hogan said, suppressing a smirk. "Looks like I've found our Hamlet and Horatio."

"I'd make a good Laertes," Carter offered. "After all that saber duel practicing I did as General von Weidler—"

"We're not holding auditions, Carter; you can have the part. Just make sure you remember the lines," Hogan said.

"Of course I can remember the lines! Why would you think I couldn't?"

"Why would we?" Newkirk incredulously asked, still in LeBeau's arms. "You were the one who couldn't remember Leedingham! 'Two miles west of Hamleeding…' 'onestly!"

"I'm pretty sure Hamlet and Laertes don't rise from the dead to bring up old missions," Kinch deadpanned.

"And I think you'd make a great Fortinbras, Kinch," Hogan said, writing it down. "You've got the part. And… Olsen and Garlotti, you two are going to be Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Thomas, you're going to be Polonius. Baker, you'll be the ambassador."

"What about Ophelia and the queen, Sir?" Wilson asked. "Who plays them?"

"From what I understand, men traditionally played the female roles in Shakespearean plays," Hogan said.

Wilson looked absolutely mortified and stared at the ground to avoid "volunteering" for such a role, but Hogan's next words alleviated his fears.

"…However, Helga and Hilda might be persuaded to be in on it for some nylons and chocolates… So that takes care of that. Wilson, you and McMahon can be the gravediggers—"

"You mean our medic is a gravedigger?" LeBeau mused. "Oh, that inspires _my_ confidence…"

"Say what you want, LeBeau," Wilson said. "Better a gravedigger than Ophelia or Queen Gertrude."

Carter snickered.

"Gertrude…" the tech sergeant chuckled. "Hey, we should get Frau Linkmeyer to play the queen—they both have the same name!"

"Don't say that!" Newkirk chided, throwing his hat at him while still in the Frenchman's arms. "She'd be playing me mother! Oh, shut up, Louis!" he directed at LeBeau, who had started snarking, as well.

"All right, calm down," Hogan said. "We're sticking with Hilda as Gertrude. We can get some of the Barracks Three boys to play the courtiers and other miscellaneous parts. So that just leaves us with the ghost and Claudius."

"You're going to be in this?" Carter asked, eager to see the colonel act in a Shakespearean play.

"Sorry, Carter; someone has to direct—and do the espionage work—while everyone else acts. I'll be able to disappear during the performance to take pictures of the plans in Klink's safe; Newkirk can use Act I, Scene I to get it open since Hamlet doesn't appear in it. He'll leave the safe a crack open, and I'll do the necessary photography."

"Brilliant," Newkirk said, applauding. "I've always said 'e's brilliant, 'aven't I? …Though that doesn't answer the question of who will play those two roles of the ghost and Claudius…"

"I'll ask Schultz to play the ghost—he'd have a ball with that," Hogan said, smirking at the thought of the rotund sergeant hamming it up onstage.

"Blimey, Sir, you're casting Schultzie was me father? Though I will admit that it is an improvement over Frau Linkmeyer as me mother…"

"Bet you're taking back that 'brilliant' statement, huh?" Carter smirked.

"Of course I'm not, Andrew! I'm sure the Guv'nor 'as a perfectly good reason for casting Schultz as the ghost."

"Mostly because I can," Hogan admitted. "And that just leaves Claudius. The actor for him should be walking in here just… about…"

"So, then!" Crittendon exclaimed, bursting inside Hogan's office. "We meet again, Comrades!"

"…Now," Hogan finished, suppressing a heavy sigh.

"I say…" Crittendon said, looking around and seeing Newkirk in LeBeau's arms. "Are you all right, Corporal? You appear to have fainted."

Newkirk rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

"Ah, Colonel Hogan," Klink said, as he and Schultz followed Crittendon inside. The smirk on the German colonel's face was one that the Heroes rarely saw—for which they were most grateful. "We have a visitor for the next two weeks; I trust you will make his stay most pleasant. After all, for the next two weeks, he is the new Senior POW Officer."

"We know, we know," Hogan said. "Though I still hope that you're letting me stay in charge of the theatre group."

"Theatre group?" Klink asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, the boys and I thought we'd put on a production of _Hamlet_—something to entertain General Burkhalter and all those other buffoons… I mean, other officers while they stay here. We figured that we could put it on in a few days."

Klink frowned.

"_Hamlet_," he murmured. "You're sure you couldn't do something more along the lines of a Shakespearean comedy? _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, perhaps? You know, I was once in a production of that very play, a long time ago; it was a German translation, of course. I played Bottom."

Hogan just barely refrained from uttering one of the dozen responses forming in his mind.

"Well, Colonel, my men were in the mood for something a little deeper than fairies with love potions running around," he began, after a moment.

"Ah-ah-ah…" Klink said, cutting him off. "For the next two weeks, they are _Crittendon's_ men! Don't forget that, Hogan!"

"I'm sure you won't let me," Hogan said, his annoyance beginning to show through his usual mask of smugness.

"You can be sure of that, indeed," Klink said, sensing that the American was irked. "Your production of _Hamlet_ is fine, and you are free to direct it—assuming that Crittendon approves, of course."

"Good; then can I assume you won't object to Crittendon's approval of Hilda and Helga being a part of it?" Hogan asked.

"Of course not!" Klink said, but then realized exactly what it was he had agreed to. "Hogan—!"

"I say, Colonel Klink, it's a jolly good idea, if you ask me!" Crittendon said. "I'll agree to the whole thing—_Hamlet_, Hilda, and Helga, too!"

"Well… Fine," Klink said, deciding that it would be worth seeing Crittendon give the orders for the next two weeks. "Crittendon, I'll leave them in your hands."

Crittendon respectfully saluted Klink, who returned the salute and left.

Schultz was about to go, but Hogan stopped him.

"Feel like playing the ghost in our production?" he offered.

"Oh, _ja_!" Schultz said. "…What do I do?"

"Look foreboding, say a few lines in a few scenes, Bob's your uncle," Newkirk said, biting back a smirk.

"_Ja_, I will do it! …But, Newkirk! My uncle's name is Kurt!"

"Never mind, Schultzie. Never mind…"

Schultz shrugged to himself and sidled out the door, though a part of him was visibly eager with his role.

"I knew he'd enjoy it," Hogan mused. He quickly sobered as he realized that coordinating his emergency plan was now going to be difficult with Crittendon hovering around them now.

The American colonel turned to the group captain.

"I suppose you'll want us to clear this place out for you?" he asked. "We can have it ready in an hour, maybe two, at the most…"

"In a minute, Hogan, in a minute…" Crittendon said, his interest piqued by the prospect of _Hamlet_. He regarded the American officer with some amount of curiosity. "Now, then, Hogan, about this production you're doing…"

"Would you like to be in it?" he offered.

"I say, are you serious?"

"We thought that you might like to take part in it," Hogan went on. "Knowing how you have such a flair for Shakespearean theatre…"

"Well, Hogan!" Crittendon replied, his torso swelling with pride. "I must say, I am honored that you'd think to include me in this production!"

"We wouldn't even dream of doing it without you," Kinch said, with a deadpan stare.

"Yes," the group captain replied, assuming it to be praise. "Now, then… Which role am I to be taking?"

"Oh, you'll be taking the role that was supposed to go to me," said Hogan. "King Claudius. I don't mind; I'm not that into Shakespeare. I'll make do with directing it…"

"Claudius?" Crittendon replied, slightly disappointed. "I see. I was rather hoping I'd get the title role, what? Given my interest for the material and all, the title role would be quite the feather in my cap… Ah, well, I suppose you all planned this well in advance; far be it from me to spoil your plans."

_If you only knew_, Hogan thought.

"Who is the lucky one to be playing the role of Hamlet?" Crittendon went on.

"That'd be me, Sir," Newkirk said.

"You?" Crittendon asked, quite surprised. "An East Ender playing Hamlet?"

Newkirk cleared his throat and adopted the regal accent again as he and LeBeau got to their feet. He picked up Carter's baseball that was on the table, pretending that it was a skull, and turned to the Frenchman.

"_Alas, poor Yorik. I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of excellent fancy…_"

"Yes, yes, he is good," Crittendon admitted. "But let me have a go." He cleared his throat. "_He hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now_…" He trailed off, growing nervous as he realized that he couldn't remember the rest of it. "Er… _But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?_"

The group all proceeded to slap their foreheads.

"Oh, blast—that's not it…" Crittendon said, realizing he had gotten the plays mixed up again. "Er… _Once more, into the breach, _Chaps_!_"

Hogan quietly cleared his throat, a very forced smile managing to find its way onto his face.

"Perhaps we should just let Newkirk play Hamlet?"

"Well… yes, I suppose that'll be best. Don't want me messing up the lines under pressure, what?"

Crittendon threw an arm around the corporal.

"I daresay we'll make a good team, eh, Newkirk?" he said. "Come; we have no time to lose!"

Newkirk maintained a very fixed smile, though his mind ranted and questioned his fate with a few curses here and a "_Why me…_?" there as Crittendon led him off to practice their shared scenes.

The East Ender's one consolation would be the sweet knowledge that it was Hamlet who ended up killing Claudius.

"Oh, Newkirk?" Hogan called.

The corporal looked back to see the colonel holding up the "canteen" he had given him.

"I think you might need this back, after all…"

Hogan tossed it across the room, where a highly grateful Newkirk caught it with one hand.

_Steal a little more from Klink's liquor cabinet when you get the chance_, Hogan mentally ordered the East Ender. _I have a feeling we'll all be needing it before this is over_.


	3. The Soul of Wit

All original plans were scrapped as the boys from Barracks Two summoned helpers from the other barracks to help build sets and costumes for the production. One by one, German officers were arriving, being greeted by Klink and talking amongst themselves as they waited for dinner. Unable to directly observe them himself due to being at Crittendon's beck and call, Hogan hoped that Hilda and Helga would serve as his eyes and ears.

"_Mon colonel_, I am worried about Pierre. His eyes are looking very odd," LeBeau said, returning to the barracks after completing his dinner preparations.

"Yeah, they're glazed over, and he looks really out of it," Carter said.

"Well, that's what a few drinks of schnapps and going over Shakespearean dialogue with Crittendon will do to you," Hogan said. "They've been at it for hours. Newkirk is showing a brand of courage I've never seen before."

"Poor guy…" Carter said, shaking his head.

"_Oui_, I know. I almost feel sorry enough to make him that overcooked mutton he likes so much."

"Really?" the sergeant asked.

"_Almost_. I have suffered enough making German dishes tonight!"

"All right, that's it," Hogan said, as Crittendon moved to start their scenes all over again. "A mere mortal can only take so much. I'm going in to spring him."

He walked over to them.

"Newkirk, can you come with me, please? You and I need to convince Hilda and Helga to come along with us for this production."

"Really, Hogan; that should be my job, what?" Crittendon said. "I will go and talk to the lovely ladies. In fact, I think I'll go and talk to them now!"

"What? No!" Hogan exclaimed, stopping the group captain in his tracks. "I mean… Well, I am the director of the play, so it's only right that I approach them."

"True, Hogan, but I am the man in charge, so the responsibility should fall on my shoulders," Crittendon said, clapping his hand on Hogan's back.

"Sir, as the colonel is the director of our play, 'e needs to audition the ladies to make sure that they are right for the parts," Newkirk bluffed on the spot. "After all, if they aren't right, then the role will 'ave to go to men."

"I say, that's highly irregular, isn't it?"

"With Shakespeare? Not at all," Newkirk assured him. "And I need to go with the colonel to read me lines with the ladies, don't I?"

"I suppose you do…" Crittendon agreed. "But shouldn't I go with you?"

"No, no," Hogan said. "You have more scenes to rehearse. Why don't you rehearse Act IV, Scene VII—you and Carter?"

"What?" the sergeant asked, his eyes going wide with horror. "But, Colonel—!"

"Smashing idea, Hogan!" Crittendon exclaimed, oblivious to Carter's growing state of panic. "Come on then, Carter! Chop, chop!"

"Just keep telling yourself that it's for Newkirk," Hogan murmured, quietly.

"That's right," the corporal quietly added. "Stiff upper, mate; you 'ave me eternal gratitude for this. I'll leave me canteen 'ere on me bunk if you need it, Andrew. Colonel, let's go."

Carter let out a whimper as Hogan and Newkirk exited the barracks. LeBeau shook his head in pity, but soon busied himself with his cookware before Crittendon could recruit him, as well.

Newkirk sighed as he savored the opportunity to clear his head.

"Another ten minutes, and I'd 'ave gone crackers," he sighed.

"You should get a medal for this, but I'm not sure I can convince London about the circumstances," Hogan said.

Newkirk gave a wan smile as they arrived in the outer office of the _Kommandantur_.

"I am sorry, Colonel Hogan, but under no circumstances are we to allow you inside," Hilda said, as they entered. "General Burkhalter is in there, getting things ready; officers have been arriving here to drop off their papers, and some of them have gone back into town."

"Back into town? Why?" Hogan asked, intrigued.

"Well, they can't _all_ stay here," Helga said, also present due to the increase in workload brought about by the upcoming meeting. "Most of them are staying at the Hausnerhof; General Burkhalter has taken over Klink's quarters here, though."

Hogan mused for a moment. Had Crittendon not been here, it would've been feasible for one of his men to go into town and possibly do a little spying on a few of the enemy officers. As it was, however, that option was closed.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the business at hand.

"Ladies, I have a request for the both of you," he said. "We're putting on a production of _Hamlet_ in three days, and we could use you as Queen Gertrude and Ophelia."

Helga smiled.

"I played Ophelia a long time ago," she said. "I wouldn't mind playing the role again…" She trailed off. "Er… who is going to be playing Hamlet?"

"I am," Newkirk said, trying to put on his most winning, charming smile. "The 'onor of working with you will be all mine."

Helga surveyed the Englishman for a moment before turning back to the colonel.

"I'll do it," she said.

"Boosting Newkirk's ego in the process," Hogan said, holding back a smirk.

"I guess I'll be playing Gertrude," Hilda said, with a shrug. "Who is playing Claudius?"

Hogan hesitated in his reply, and the smile quickly faded from Hilda's face.

"Hilda, listen," Hogan said. "It's only for one night, and I swear I'll make it up to you afterward—"

"Who is it?" Hilda asked, folding her arms as Helga bit her lip.

"It's Crittendon," Hogan said.

"Thank you for asking, Colonel Hogan, but I think I shall be busy that night."

"Hilda, please," Hogan said. "I'll give you four pairs of nylons, a pound of coffee, and three bars of chocolate."

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" Helga said, frowning slightly. "You didn't offer me anything for playing Ophelia!"

"That's because you get to work with me, Luv," Newkirk said. "You get to 'ave me lying at your feet in Act III, Scene II."

Helga stared at Newkirk again before turning back to Hogan.

"Two pairs of nylons and one chocolate bar, Colonel," she decided. "I can make do with that."

Newkirk's face fell significantly.

"It's a deal," Hogan said, placing a copy of the play on their desk. "Chin up, Newkirk; at least she didn't ask for coffee." He turned back to Hilda. "Well?"

"Oh, fine," she sighed. "I suppose it cannot be too terrible. Is there anything else we can do, while you're in a generous mood?"

"How much would it cost for you two girls to invite the brass to watch the play?" the colonel inquired. "We are putting on for their benefit, after all—it'll provide them with some entertainment while they're here, minds all heavy with the weight of all those secrets in their heads…"

"No charge for that, Colonel Hogan," Hilda said, with a smile. "We'll see you later."

"And we thank you, Ladies," Hogan responded, kissing both of the secretaries on the cheek. "Newkirk, let's go."

"Tell me again…" the corporal asked, as they departed the _Kommandantur_. "Why did you need me for this?"

"Something wrong, Newkirk?"

"For 'eaven's sake, Colonel! Two pairs of nylons and a chocolate bar! I ain't that impossible, am I?"

"In Helga's defense, you do have a reputation for being a ladies' man."

"_I_ 'ave a reputation for being a ladies' man?" Newkirk asked, incredulously, as he turned his head to stare at his commanding officer. "_You're_ the one telling _me_ that _I_ 'ave a reputation for being a ladies' man?"

"You know what? Just forget it."

"No disrespect intended, Sir, but of all the people in the world to tell me that—"

"Newkirk, I said 'forget it.' And that's an order."

"Yes, Sir…" Newkirk said, suppressing a smirk as Kinch came over to them.

"Colonel, I finished a new attachment for the coffeepot," he said, but paused as he noticed Newkirk's expression. "What's up?"

"Aside from spending the last few hours rehearsing with Crittendon, his ego just went on a bit of a roller coaster ride while we were inside with the girls," Hogan explained. "What've you got, Kinch?"

"I wired up a small tape recorder that we can attach to the coffeepot. Instead of broadcasting what the bug picks up to the whole room, it will just record it on tape. If you can get Crittendon out of the room for fifteen minutes, Baker and I can set it up under the bunk so that he won't see or hear anything."

"Excellent," Hogan said. "Kinch, you're a genius."

"Well, it's not that simple," Kinch responded. "I had to make the recorder small so that we could easily hide it. That tape has to be replaced every two hours, and I only have three replacement tapes."

Hogan thought for a moment.

"Well, we don't have to record anything until tomorrow," he said. "But go ahead and install it today, while we keep Crittendon busy."

"You mean while Andrew and I keep 'im busy," Newkirk said, sighing. "Right-o, then—another sacrifice for this Son of England to make, even if 'e is an alleged ladies' man…"

"What about the tapes?" Kinch asked.

"We'll keep rotating them," Hogan said. "Someone will be in the tunnels at all times, ready to transcribe the tapes. We'll have to figure out how to switch the tapes without Crittendon noticing, though."

"Well, Sir, you can count on Andrew and me to provide all the distractions you need, Sir," Newkirk affirmed. "Just as long as we keep nipping at that canteen…"

"One question, though," Kinch said. "Can all that nonsense keep Crittendon distracted?"

"The play's the thing, Kinch," Hogan paraphrased, with a smirk. "Wherein we'll catch the conscience of the group captain."


	4. The Drink, the Drink!

The next couple of days went, miraculously, like clockwork. Granted, it was a rather slow clock that wasn't keeping the proper time, but it was better than what the team had expected with Crittendon involved. While costumes and sets came together with surprising ease, Kinch and Baker spent long hours underground, transcribing what the tapes picked up and sending the information back to London. To their annoyance, the Germans kept referring to papers and maps they were holding in their hands.

LeBeau did his part, keeping the German officers well-fed, much to his chagrin. It did, however, allow the Frenchman to overhear one or two tidbits of information while the officers conversed; LeBeau kept his ear to the door whenever possible, which wasn't too difficult after keeping Schultz occupied with a serving of the food when he was supposed to have been guarding the corporal. But even he wasn't learning much; the Germans again kept referring to positions on their maps.

London's response was as Hogan had predicted—that the information that they were sending just wasn't enough; they needed more details—details that would only make sense after they saw the plans and maps locked up in Klink's safe.

It would all have to fall on the diversion set forth by the play. Klink had managed to convince the officers to attend the play that the men were putting on, so that was in Hogan's favor. As showtime neared, Hogan took Newkirk aside in the barracks, the corporal already dressed in his costume.

"Here's where you work your magic," the colonel said. "I need you to get Klink's safe open. Go through the tunnel leading out of the stove; I don't want you being seen anywhere near the _Kommandantur_. I'll be right behind you after I introduce the play. When you're finished, go back through the tunnel get out through the barracks and sneak to the theatre."

"Right-o, Sir," Newkirk said. "All of the goons are in the theatre?"

"Aside from a few guards outside to keep things secure, they're all inside," Hogan said. "Langenscheidt was complaining that he was on duty and would have to miss the show."

"With Crittendon in the cast, Langenscheidt ain't missing much," Newkirk mused.

The barracks door opened, revealing Schultz dressed up in a bleached uniform, to mimic the attire of the ghost.

"LeBeau," he said, looking for the Frenchman. "LeBeau, there is no white makeup; may I borrow some flour?"

"Flour?" LeBeau repeated, incredulously.

"_Ja_, I need to look like a ghost, and that might be the only way I can without the makeup!"

"All right, Schultz, but it looks as though you'll be taking about three months' worth of strudel fixings to do it," Hogan said, seeing how LeBeau looked scandalized at the thought of giving up his flour for such a purpose.

"Oh," Schultz said, as he realized that Hogan's words did have quite a bit of truth to them. "Perhaps I shall go for the minimalistic ghost, _ja_?

"You do that, Schultzie," Newkirk said, rolling his eyes as the big man lumbered back outside the barracks.

"Hey, Newkirk, you'd better go now," Carter said, exiting what used to be Hogan's office. "Crittendon's ready to show off his costume."

"He's right; go," Hogan ordered, opening the bunk bed trapdoor. "We'll say you stepped outside to get rid of a little stage fright. The play officially starts in fifteen minutes, and you don't come on until Scene II, so that gives you some additional time—not that you'll need it."

"I certainly won't, but you lot 'ad better 'ead on over there; if you ain't on time, they might suspect that the whole thing really is a diversion."

"Don't you worry about us; you just get that safe open," Hogan said, as Newkirk descended into the tunnels. He tapped the switch and closed the trapdoor behind him as Crittendon entered the room.

"I say, Hogan, if we're to put this show on, shouldn't we be over at the theatre?" he asked, his voice slightly raspy.

"We're going," Hogan said, but he frowned at the sound of Crittendon's voice. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, I've gone and practiced those dialogues so much that I've got a bit of a frog in the throat. You, there—LeBeau! I don't suppose you've got some honey and vinegar I can mix together?"

LeBeau immediately launched into a diatribe in his own tongue, ranting about how his ingredients were meant for cooking and cooking alone—not for makeup or home remedies.

"If it's that much trouble, just a glass of water should suffice," Crittendon added, hastily, taken aback by the short Frenchman's even shorter temper.

"All right, LeBeau, he gets the idea; you're on in the first scene—better get moving," Hogan said. "And the rest of you guys go with him!"

There was a small stampede of soldiers eager to get away from Crittendon; Hogan found himself bringing up the rear of it.

"There should be some coffee leftover; I don't know if that would help or not," he threw over his shoulder.

"Well, it's like I said," Crittendon murmured, more to himself as Hogan was rapidly departing from earshot. "A little bit of water should be enough to get me through the performance, what?"

The group captain blinked as he noticed the canteen lying on Newkirk's bunk. Well, the corporal had told Carter to take it if he needed it; surely that applied to anyone in the barracks, none the least of which the senior POW officer?

He retrieved the canteen and headed out the door, unscrewing it and taking a drink from it as he walked—and promptly sputtered.

_By Jove, the corporal's come up with some sort of concoction—I could swear it tastes just like liquor! Of course, it can't be… I'll have to ask him how he made this pseudo-liquor; he could make a fortune with this!_

Oblivious to the truth, he continued to drink as he headed towards the theatre.

* * *

If Hogan had been aware of Crittendon's actions, he would've been even more worried than he was at the moment; the fifteen minutes had gone by, and there was still no sign of Newkirk.

"It should not have taken this long for Pierre to crack that safe," LeBeau said, waiting in the wings for his entrance after Hogan gave his introduction to the audience. "Did something happen?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Hogan replied. "You keep the show going."

"Not easy when the title role has gone missing in action," Kinch said, arriving. "Speaking of missing, has anyone seen Crittendon? We need him for the next scene, too."

"He's probably still looking for something for his throat," Hogan said. "Right now, I need to find Newkirk."

The Colonel snuck through the shadows of the back of the building, carefully making his way from building to building, aiming to head for Barracks Two in order to follow the tunnels to Klink's quarters.

A few yards from the barracks, however, he soon realized what was holding Newkirk up; Langenscheidt was pacing the area between Barracks Two and the building that Hogan was hiding behind. The colonel could just barely see the frustrated corporal watching from the shadows of the barracks.

Newkirk suddenly froze, seeing Hogan. He gave him the "V for Victory" sign to let him know that the safe was indeed open and waiting for the colonel to take the pictures of the plans within.

Hogan gave a nod, and then beckoned Newkirk forward to let Langenscheidt see him.

Newkirk responded with a look that clearly asked, "Have you gone barmy?"

Hogan responded with a glare and indicated his watch. He could trust Newkirk to bluff himself out of a jam with Langenscheidt involved; anyone else, and the colonel wouldn't have even considered it.

Newkirk let out a silent sigh and stepped out into the open.

"Langenscheidt?"

The German corporal blinked.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, taking a look at Newkirk's costume. "I thought the show had started!"

"…I can't do it, Langenscheidt!" Newkirk said, with a false air of despair. "I wouldn't 'ave minded if it was just everyone from Stalag 13, but… all those officers…"

"I have seen you at the rehearsals, Newkirk; I have seen you practicing your lines," Langenscheidt said, kindly. "You are just nervous."

"I've always 'ad troubles with me nerves," the East Ender replied, pretending to wipe sweat from his forehead.

"_Ja_, you see?" Langenscheidt said. "Shall I give you some advice? When I have a case of nerves, I try a little bit of deep breathing."

Newkirk's face looked utterly blank at this point; it was a good thing that it was a moonless night, or Langenscheidt would've seen it.

"Deep breathing?" the Englishman repeated.

"_Ja_; why don't you try it? Breathe in, like this…"

The German corporal demonstrated, and his English counterpart followed along, trying not to show his amusement.

"Now, breathe out…"

Hogan saw his chance as Langenscheidt continued to tutor Newkirk in the deep breathing. He crept across the gap between the buildings as Langenscheidt's back was turned and made it to the shadows of Barracks Two. Once inside, he grabbed LeBeau's camera and headed down the tunnel to get to Klink's quarters and followed the doors to the office to get to the safe. Once there, he proceeded to take the pictures of the plans and maps inside, keeping an eye and ear out for the guard outside.

Meanwhile, Newkirk finished up his deep breathing.

"Blimey, Langenscheidt, I think that did the ruddy trick!" he bluffed. "Thanks!"

"_Hals- und Beinbruch_," the German corporal said, clapping him on the back.

Newkirk snuck back to the theatre, deciding that he shouldn't have been too surprised that he had pulled that off. Langenscheidt was an all-around decent bloke like Schultz, he realized.

After a few more minutes, the Englishman finally arrived at the theatre and crept back backstage.

"Well, I'm back," he said to Carter, who was still looking rather upset. "The Guv'nor's carrying on phase two of the mission; I just got a little delayed by Langenscheidt. There's nothing to worry about."

"Um… actually," Carter said. "We do have something to worry about. Kinch was looking for Crittendon—he's on in a few minutes. See, he had a sore throat, and he was looking for some water…"

"Don't tell me you 'aven't found 'im yet…"

"Oh, we found him," Carter said. "Well, Kinch did; he's trying to herd him over here now."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Well, you know how you left that canteen on your bunk?"

"…Oh, Cor…"

A loud hiccup caused the both of them to turn. Kinch and Olsen were struggling to support the tipsy Crittendon. Hilda was following them in her costume, her eyes wide with shock and disgust at the sight of him.

"Ahoy there, Norporal Cewkirk—I mean, Corporal Newkirk!" the group captain slurred, causing Olsen to flinch as he breathed directly into his face. "I must say, you've made quite a—hic!—concoction; imitation liquor! It works wonders! Tastes just like the—hic!—real thing and heals a sore throat!"

"Sir, exactly 'ow much of the… elixir did you drink?" Newkirk asked, his gaze shifting back and forth in his nervousness.

"Why, whatever was left in that canteen! I wasn't sure—hic!—of the dosage, so I figured that I'd play it safe…"

"For Pete's sake, how much was left in there?" Carter asked.

"Apparently enough to get a man smashed," Newkirk said, suppressing a groan. "Cor, what a waste."

"How is it that you had the schnapps to waste in the first place?" Hilda inquired, quietly. "You are not allowed to have any alcohol! Where did you get it?"

Newkirk winced.

"I think you might want to take that up with Colonel 'ogan; I'm sure 'e can set you up with some elixir of your own," he said, deciding that he didn't want to admit that the schnapps-in-the canteen was his doing entirely.

"Never mind that! What are we supposed to do?" Olsen asked, his eyes filled with mounting panic.

"Olsen's right; he's on in two minutes!" Kinch said, scowling as Crittendon swayed back and forth, throwing him and Olsen off-balance.

"Then I shall—hic!—go!" the group captain insisted. "The show must go on!"

Newkirk looked to Carter, who shrugged helplessly.

Realizing that, this time, they really were up the creek without a paddle, the corporal looked Heavenward, not really caring that his line of sight was blocked by the ceiling.

"…'elp us all."


	5. Of Infinite Jest

"So, now you know…" Carter said, as Newkirk continued to stare at the ceiling for answers. "What do we do!"

"We 'ave to go on with the show," the corporal said. Hogan was taking pictures of the plans right now; if they didn't cover for him, he would be found out.

The first scene ended, and Newkirk let out an audible gulp.

"Right, then, Sir…" he said, pushing Crittendon out of the wings and towards the stage. "It's your line once we get out there."

"You think he's going to remember it?" Kinch asked, staying behind.

LeBeau was exiting the stage, pausing with wide eyes as he saw Hilda disdainfully take Crittendon's arm in hers.

"Kinch will explain," Newkirk said, following them as the Frenchman gave him an inquiring look.

Crittendon cleared his throat and began his lines, Hilda holding onto his arm so that he did not wobble from his tipsiness.

"_Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death_," he bellowed, raising his free arm in the air and pointing at nothing. "_The memory be green, and that it us befitted to bear our hearts in GRIEF_—" He suddenly dropped to his knees as he shouted the latter word, taking Hilda with him.

Newkirk, Carter, and Thomas all flinched, as did LeBeau and Kinch, who were offstage.

"—_and our whole kingdom to be contracted in one brow of woe, yet so far hath discretion fought_—" Crittendon swung his fist around. "—_with nature, together with remembrance of ourselves…_"

He drew Hilda closer in an embrace, who was trying her hardest not to wince.

"…_Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen_—"

He bent forward to kiss her, and that was the last straw. Hilda slapped him and cursed in German.

"It's over," Carter said, shutting his eyes.

But, to his astonishment, a roar of laughter erupted from the audience—and it wasn't the other prisoners of war, either. The German officers were finding Crittendon's over-the-top, drunk performance to be a hilarious interpretation of the play.

"They're crackers, the lot of them…" Newkirk said, his eyes going wide, too.

Kinch stared from the wings as Crittendon went on, soaking in the praise.

"What is going on out there?" LeBeau whispered, stunned to hear the laughing but unable to see.

Kinch turned back and looked to LeBeau with an expression of disbelief.

"He's a hit," the sergeant said, simply.

"We are talking about the same Crittendon, _non_?"

They watched the scene play out, Hilda, Thomas, Carter, and Newkirk, desperate not to let slip that Crittendon was completely inebriated, proceeded to say their lines in a similar, over-exaggerated manner.

"_My dread lord, your leave and favor to return to FRANCE_—" Carter bellowed, striking some sort of semi-regal, semi-idiotic pose to fit in.

"I wish I _could_ return to France," LeBeau murmured, burying his face in his hands. "This is a disaster!"

"I don't know…" Kinch said. "The Germans seem to love it. And you've got to admit, the 'When in Rome' technique does hide what we want to hide."

LeBeau shook his head and watched as each of the cast members now attempted to ham it up, trying to outdo each other.

As the stage was cleared to make way for one of Hamlet's soliloquies, Hilda gave Kinch a look as she helped Carter and Thomas guide Crittendon off the stage.

"I feel like such a fool!" she said. "When Colonel Hogan comes back, tell him that I want double the coffee, nylons, and chocolate he promised!"

"You've earned it," Kinch promised. "And as for you, Louis, it'll soon be your turn to make a fool of yourself."

"Oh, _bon_…" the Frenchman replied, dryly, as Newkirk began the soliloquy.

"_O, that this too too sullied flesh would melt_—" Newkirk said, crashing to his knees and clutching his chest as laughter rang out among the Germans.

"The things we do for a successful mission…" Carter sighed.

The mission _was_ a success, thankfully. With his part of the plan done and the film containing the pictures of the secret documents stored safely in the tunnel, Hogan now snuck back to the theatre building just as Newkirk was giving the ham-ified version of the "To be or not to be…" speech.

"Hey, there…!" the colonel said. "Everything's set and ready to go…" He trailed off, seeing Newkirk. "What is he _doing_ out there?"

"He is acting, Hogan!" Crittendon exclaimed, leaning in close enough for Hogan to get a whiff of his breath and understand completely. "And he's doing a smashing job of it, I should say!"

Hogan winced and pushed the group captain away as Kinch gave his commanding officer a shrug.

"Hilda and Helga are demanding that you double their agreed bribe," he said, quietly. "And, quite frankly, I can't blame them; some of the boys have started asking for chocolate and coffee…"

"As long as _they_ aren't asking for nylons, too, I can live with that," the colonel said. He looked back at Crittendon. "Let me guess—Newkirk's canteen?"

"Newkirk's canteen," Kinch agreed. "The silver lining to this cloud is that the audience actually likes this particular interpretation of the play."

Hogan looked out onto the stage as Newkirk flopped over to the stage floor as he reached "_To die, to sleep…_" in the soliloquy.

The Germans were guffawing.

"What do you think, Sir?" Carter asked.

"I think the Bard of Avon is rolling over in his grave right now, but there isn't anything I can do about it. Keep going."

* * *

It was a performance of _Hamlet_ unlike any that had been seen before—and the likes of which would never be seen again, if the crew at Stalag 13 had anything to say about it. After a series of scenes stuffed with exaggerated acting, the Mighty Hogan Art Players were left to salvage whatever they could of their dignity. The scenes had grown hammier and hammier, leading up to Newkirk and Carter's climactic duel in the final scene, where the duo ended up chasing each other all over the place, including through the audience before Newkirk "stabbed" him and then Crittendon; the Group Captain, having expended all of the adrenaline that the schnapps had filled him with, flopped over in a drunken faint. Carter then had Laertes "die" a dramatic death (it was five minutes before he had stopped moving, though it was really because poor Carter was cracking up so badly that he was shaking), which was followed by Newkirk-as-dying-Hamlet, stopping LeBeau-as-Horatio from committing suicide with the poisoned cup (resulting in a tug-of-war that sent the cup flying into the audience), and LeBeau lamenting as Newkirk "died" in his arms, and then sob in Kinch-as-Fortinbras' arms as he arrived.

Needless to say, as they propped the drunken Crittendon up to take their bows in the curtain call, they were glad it was over. Hogan and Kinch led Crittendon back to Barracks Two and left him passed out on the bunk in Hogan's office (still in his costume) as they joined Olsen, Baker, Wilson, Garlotti, and Thomas as they poured themselves some much-needed coffee; Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter had stayed behind at the theatre to see what Klink had to say about what they had done.

"What do you think Klink will say, Sir?" Kinch asked. The German colonel's expression had not been visible in the dim light, and there was every chance in the world that he would've found the men's production a mockery of the play and the "strict discipline of Stalag 13" that he kept going on about.

"At this point, I'll be relieved if the worst he does is throw us all into the cooler for embarrassing him and the camp," Hogan said. "And even then, I'm _still_ in the doghouse as far as the girls are concerned. They're not going to forgive me for this one."

He turned towards the door as the trio returned.

"What's the verdict?" the colonel asked.

"Well, Guv," Newkirk said. "Survey said… we were a ruddy 'it."

"With Klink, too?" Kinch asked.

"Surprisingly, yes," LeBeau said. "He is trying to take credit for giving us the idea to put a light-hearted spin on an otherwise tragic story!"

"Not only that, General Burkhalter has apparently requested that he wants to see what we do with _M_—" Carter began, before Newkirk clapped a hand over his mouth.

"'e means the Scottish Play," the Englishman finished. _Blimey, Andrew; the last thing we need is more bad luck_…

"How about that?" Hogan mused, shaking his head. "Well, we can dwell on that, later. Carter, the camera is down in the tunnel; I need you to develop the film so we can send that information to London as soon as possible."

Carter yawned as he nodded, pulling the plumed hat off of his head. After another hour or two at the latest, it would be mission accomplished, and all they would have to do is put up with Crittendon until Colonel Vogel came back to take him to Stalag 5.

**Epilogue**

It was a late night, but a productive one—the Heroes were able to sleep well after the pictures had been developed and the information had been sent to England. Hogan, on the other hand, found sleep to be a bit more elusive, thanks in part to Crittendon's loud snores coming from the bunk below.

Needless to say, he was rather irate when Crittendon woke him up, complaining of the largest headache he had ever felt in his life.

"I tell you, Hogan, it's incredibly bizarre. I can't remember a thing about the performance last night, and I've awakened to this beastly headache!"

"You don't remember?" Hogan asked, as he led the Group Captain outside, where the men were preparing for roll call. "As we left the stage, you were hit by a support beam that fell from the scenery. I guess it gave you amnesia."

The men picked up on this and gave murmurs of agreement.

"Yeah, that's right!" Carter said. "You sure you're okay there, Sir? You were out cold the whole night!"

"_Oui_, we were so worried…"

"Cor, we were praying, we were!" _Praying that you weren't going to get us all killed after stealing me canteen and turning up dead drunk…!_

"Pity," Crittendon said. "Sorry to make you chaps worry. But as I remember nothing of the performance, could you tell me if I was I any good?"

He was met with silence for a moment, but Kinch found his voice first.

"Sir, you were unforgettable."

"Yeah," Carter agreed. "In fact, you set the mood of the whole play. And the audience loved us—they really did. It's like I told the others last night; General Burkhalter even said that he wants to see us perform—"

"—The Scottish Play," Newkirk interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"Really?" Crittendon said. "I say, you must let me know in advance when you go at it, what? I shall want to be a part of it, too!"

This time, not even Kinch could break the horrified silence.

"Yeah, uh… We'll do that," Hogan lied, as Carter's mouth hung slightly open in stunned shock.

LeBeau muttered something in his own tongue, which Newkirk didn't understand, but agreed with all the same.

Schultz's arrival to announce roll call was surprisingly welcomed, seeing as it steered the conversation elsewhere.

For the remainder of Crittendon's stay, Shakespeare was successfully avoided—mainly because they were trying to avoid Crittendon altogether. The German officers had long since dispersed by the time Vogel returned to take Crittendon away, and it was after he had left that Hogan and his men celebrated the success of the mission and paid their dues of chocolate and coffee to Helga and Hilda, who both decided to forgive them, realizing that Crittendon had made them suffer, as well.

Newkirk had received a mild chiding for leaving the canteen of schnapps in plain sight, but was easily forgiven when it was agreed upon that Crittendon was a different case altogether. It was then ordered that the next time they had the misfortune to cross paths with Crittendon again, every single alcoholic substance in their possession was to be concealed in strongboxes in the tunnel (including the cooking sherry, much to LeBeau's ire).

After that day, the Mighty Hogan Art Players' production of _Hamlet_ was more or less forgotten (it was never brought up in conversation again for the sake of preserving the team's eventually-restored dignity), save for one memento hanging on the wall of Barracks Two: it was the poster that Olsen had whipped up to hang outside the theatre, only Carter had made a slight modification to the title.

It now read, "Stalag 13 Presents: _The Tragicomedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark_."

* * *

_Author's Note: And it's done! Apologies for the delay in this; comedy is more of a challenge for me than drama, though I will admit that this was fun to write._


End file.
